


Rigors

by Trillion_G



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trillion_G/pseuds/Trillion_G
Summary: Chekov learns the details about what almost happened to him in the operating room at Mercy operating room in 1980s San Francisco. After the recent months, from Khan to his capture in the past, he starts to buckle under pressure.
Relationships: Pavel Chekov & Hikaru Sulu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Rigors

**Author's Note:**

> During Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. Take places immediately after the crew crash lands the Bird of Prey in San Francisco Bay.
> 
> One-shot. Can be interpreted as Chekov/Sulu (one-sided) or platonic.

The short shuttle ride from the freezing waters of San Francisco Bay to Starfleet HQ was practically luxurious compared to their slow journey in a stifling, antiquated Bird of Prey. But Sulu knew even a utilitarian transport shuttle shouldn’t be handling this roughly, even through the buffeting winds of the dying catastrophic world-wide storms. 

After another near miss between his skull and the bulkhead, Sulu shot to his feet to push his way to the front of the cabin. The deck was slick with seawater from eight sodden passengers, and Sulu had to react quickly when his foot slipped to avoid falling into Scotty’s lap. “Steady, lad.”

“Problem with helm control, Ensign?” Sulu asked as he gripped the back of the young pilot’s seat. His baritone was laced with his usual edge of amusement, but after decades of familiarity most passengers in the transport shuttle could detect the hint of irritation in his tone.

“Uh, sorry, uh sir.” The pilot’s nerves were shot: controlling this bucket as the storms receded while under the eye of living legends (including one of the most skilled pilots in Fleet history) was certainly not what he had expected from his interim ground assignment to Starfleet Headquarters. “She only had a partial charge, so we’re running on aux…”

“Ah, no auto gravs,” Sulu replied, eyeing the panel in front of the empty copilot chair.

“Is that why there’s no damn heat back here?” McCoy barked, gripping a swinging handle overhead with one hand while loading a hypo. The contents of a first aid kit scattered across the deck as the shuttled listed to port. “Damn it!”

“Aye, life support doesn’t run on auxiliary power on these older planet-bound freighters.” Scotty braced, his boots slipping on the slick deck as he attempted to keep both himself and Uhura in their seats until the shuttle righted itself.

“Let me.” Sulu told the ensign as he slid into the copilot seat. 

“Uh… sir…” the young Andorian kept his eyes glued to his panel.

“Transfer main helm to the copilot,” Sulu continued as he tapped away. When the panel flashed red, indicating he was locked out, he shot a glare at the Andorian. “Ensign, I ordered--”

“Sulu, we’re still fugitives,” Kirk pointed out. He was helping steady Spock in the seat as McCoy pressed a hypo of Tri-Ox to his neck. Spock was pale with a teal tinge to his lips, and his eyes were olive and glassy. Jim knew a Vulcan could tolerate cold temperatures several degrees below a human’s abilities. But a  _ wet _ cold Vulcan was bad news. “I’m sure he’s on strict orders.”

Sulu sighed and clenched his jaw. He settled for watching the pilot’s deep blue fingers struggle against the controls. “Steady, steady,” he murmured. They were approaching a large hangar bustling with freighters and shuttles. “ _ Careful _ on that approach!”

“Hikaru, leave him alone,” Chekov drolled. “Come back here with the rest of the mutineers.” The security officer had pulled several blankets from storage compartments. 

As he wrapped one around Dr. Taylor’s shoulders, she asked quietly, her teeth chattering, “Is he going to be okay?” Chekov followed her line of sight over to the shivering Vulcan. 

“Ah, yes. Dr. McCoy has patched up this crew more times than ve can count. He’s among the wery best.” The Russian’s thick accent in inverted Vs and Ws divulged his exhaustion, but he fought through it to distribute more blankets. Uhura grabbed his hand in thanks. Now that the transport shuttle had touched down, she was removing her uniform tunic to get down to just the white sweater. 

“Lucky thing he was there for you at that hospital” Gillian said.

Chekov snorted, but without real heat behind it. “Yeah, I could have been finished off by 20th century butchers.” His pinched expression morphed into discomfort. “No offense, of course.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re wrong,” she mused. “Doctor McCoy was pretty horrified by the whole hospital. You should have seen him barking at that surgeon who wanted to drill a hole in your head.”

Chekov successfully contained a gasp at Gillian’s words, but Uhura’s and Sulu’s exclamations would have drowned it out. “Are you serious?” Uhura croaked. She laid a hand on Checkov’s arm as Sulu unconsciously inched closer to Chekov. The sodden green hospital gowns clinging to his friend, once ridiculous, seemed now ominous to Sulu.

“You had bleeding in your brain. The surgeons wanted to relieve the pressure somehow, and I guess it makes sense if you think about it.” Gillian glanced at Scotty, Uhura, and Sulu’s horrified expressions, but it was Chekov’s blank face that made her regret ever opening her mouth. 

Fortunately the cerulean pilot saved her from an awkward death. “Sirs, security will be along as soon as possible to escort you to a medical bay. While Headquarters sustained not nearly as much damage as some of the surrounding city, there are still plenty of injuries. And several systems are still coming online. I apologize for the wait, sirs.”

“I’m sure a med bay isn’t necessary… for most of us,” Kirk said, glancing to his side at Spock. 

“I assure you, Admiral, my condition is much improved,” Spock replied. “However--”

McCoy shouted over him. “Oh your green-blooded self is going straight to a sickbay, I don’t  _ care _ how fine you feel!” Spock merely raised an eyebrow as the doctor stabbed a finger in his face.

“Bones--”

McCoy rounded on Kirk. “And don’t think you’re getting out of it either. I think you swallowed half the bay while you were down there breaking those whales out. And  _ you _ ,” he turned on Gillian. “There’s no telling how many immunizations we need to load you up with.”

Though she was guilty of nothing (barring the minor incident with the transporter beam), she had a vision of the only time she could remember her grandfather scolding her. “Of course.”

“All of you! You’re all getting your butts in a medbed.” He was working up to a good fit, but stilled as his sweeping gestures reached Chekov. “You especially,” he murmured in a subdued tone. The old doctor practically collapsed in the seat next to Spock.

Spock continued, determining that the Doctor had run out of steam. “As I was saying: we were all in waters of sub-optimal temperatures for approximately thirty minutes. It would be most prudent for all of us to receive medical attention, including you, Doctor.” McCoy leaned his head back against the bulkhead and shut his eyes. His wiry frame was wracked with shivers that gained intensity with each passing minute.

“Uhura,” Kirk said, taking in the sight of his ragged, exhausted crew. “If you have any tricks up your sleeve, see if you can bump us up the priority list for a security escort. Most of us may be fugitives, but I’m sure they’d like us alive long enough to stand trial.”

“Aye, sir.”

Sulu shifted in his creaking leather jacket. Though his teeth chattered, he was thankful for the thick waterproof garment and synthetic fibers, not envying Spock in his airy Vulcan robe or Chekov in his combination of insubstantial green cotton scrubs and hospital gown. He pulled his jacket off and draped it over McCoy. 

“If it’s going to be much longer, we should strip you out of these wet clothes, Pavel.” He winked at Chekov, and watched to see if a blush would light up those round cheeks. His Russian friend was mostly immune to Sulu’s accidental-on-purpose suggestive comments after years of friendship, but he could occasionally get one over on Chekov.

Instead, the younger man kept his eyes to the deck, his frame tense even though his exhaustion was evident. “Hey, Pavel.” Sulu sat down again and bumped his shoulder into his friend’s. He was as yielding as the bulkhead.

“Leave it,” Chekov growled.

“No, I’m serious.” Sulu raised his voice to address the group. “These wet clothes aren’t doing us any good.”

“The commander is correct,” Spock said. His color was much improved. “I will attempt to acquire more suitable garb.”

“But sir!” The Andorian barked, stepping forward. “I have orders to retain the prisoners!”

“Indeed. But Doctor Taylor and I stand accused of no crimes.” The Andorian held his place for a few heartbeats longer, but ultimately drooped his antennae and moved from the door. “I assure you, Admiral Kirk and his crew will remain here on their best behavior. Doctor Taylor, if you will.” Spock gestured out as the hatch opened into the large hangar.

She wasn’t sure if she’d rather be alone with Spock or freeze to death on the shuttle. It was surprising to her that the more time she spent with him, the  _ more _ Alien he got. But she followed, unable to resist the opportunity to get her first taste of the 23rd century. 

After Scott worked out of his vest and dropped it to the deck, he stepped towards the shuttle cockpit to join the nervous ensign and Uhura and Kirk in their attempts to call in favors. The heavy sound jerked McCoy out of a twilight slumber, and he bolted upright. “Spock?!”

“Went out to find us dry clothes,” Sulu answered. McCoy scooted to move a few seats closer to Chekov and Sulu, wincing as his joints tried to seize.

“Chekov, tell me how you’re feeling. The medscanner from the kit went who knows where.” McCoy glanced around at the deck, fruitlessly. “I imagine your head’s killing you.”

“I’m fine!” Chekov barked, his shoulders hunching forward. “Will you lay off?!” He stood, pushing roughly past Sulu to the aisle to pace. He met the aft bulkhead in four steps, and glowered at it.

“Hey!” Sulu barked back. “Pavel sit down! From what Doctor Taylor was saying, it sounds like you’ve been through it.” Chekov crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, still obstinately facing the featureless bulkhead.

“Ah, hell,” McCoy cursed. “What did she tell you?”

Chekov laughed humorlessly. “Nothing. Just… I’m really fine. We’ve escaped much worse situations a hundred times. And it’s not like anything really happened. I was chased, I fell like  _ bezdel'nik _ , and you and the Admiral busted me out. Typical away mission.”

Sulu and McCoy exchanged glances. They were both well aware of Chekov’s stubborn resistance to acknowledge close calls and near misses. “I think,” Sulu said, his tone cautious, “that you’re underselling yourself a bit. You’ve been saying you’re fine for months now. And I know this may seem minor to you compared to lots of things you’ve survived. But experiencing capture by a relatively primitive human military would really bother me.”

“And what  _ would _ you know about it? I. Am. Fine! I  _ didn’t _ have my brains scrambled by a lobotomy and I  _ wasn’t _ shot with projectiles weapons! My  _ problem  _ is you, nagging, Sulu. You haven’t left me alone since the moment you walked me up that ramp and attached yourself to my side when all I want is some space to breathe and do my  _ job _ to keep this crew safe.” Chekov’s eyes were wild and bloodshot as he poured his frustration out, accent thick with trilled Rs and harsh Hs. “You never can just trust me! Treating me like I’m still kid at navigation panel. But you just worry worry worry like I didn’t go through entire security track. It’s my  _ job _ to put myself between my crew and those men with their bullets and their handcuffs and dogs and  _ drills _ .” His voice broke on the last word. He squeezed his eyes tightly, refusing to let tears fall. He was wracked with violent shaking; anger, adrenaline, and near hypothermia overriding his control.

“Pavel--”

“Shut up, Hikaru!” Chekov roared.

“Gentlemen,” Kirk snapped out. None of them had noticed Kirk’s return from the cockpit as they watched Chekov devolve into a rage. Behind him, Scotty and Uhura were peering with worry at the back of the transport. “Everything okay?” The ironic question was delivered in steely authority.

“Aye, sir,” Sulu replied, standing to approach Chekov. He’d never been cowed by the younger man’s fierce temper. 

“Just processing,” McCoy whispered, tapping his temple. Kirk nodded. “Sulu’s got him.”

Sulu planted his hands on Chekov’s shoulders, and McCoy herded Kirk back to the cockpit to give them the illusion of privacy.

“Sir, permission to--” Uhura started, already sliding out of the cockpit. Kirk gestured towards the pair. “Thank you, sir. Security is on their way.”

Sulu braced as Chekov buried his face in his hands and slumped, though he remained on his feet. In the course of their friendship, they rarely breached the barrier of machismo to embrace, and Sulu was relieved and a little guilty when Uhura stepped in to pull Chekov into her arms. The guard’s breath stuttered, but he quickly regained composure. “None of us doubt your abilities, Pavel,” she crooned. She rubbed his back in a familiar soothing gesture; he was well used to her mothering. “You sent me ahead, and I haven’t thanked you for protecting me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

As his quaking subsided to tremors, Chekov sighed deeply and pulled his hands from his face. His cheeks were dry, but his voice was thick. “There was no way I would have left you there, Uhura.”

“Her many suitors would have strangled you,” Sulu quipped quietly. It was enough to pull an amused snort from Chekov and a glare from Uhura. 

“Of course,” was all he could say, hoping they understood everything he wanted to convey. The embarrassment was starting to overwhelm his trauma response, and he stood tall, pulling gently from his small friend.

The hatch hissed, letting in a slight bit of fog from the unnaturally humid air of the hangar. Gillian held a lidded tray, and Spock followed behind with a bag slung over his shoulder. They were both clothed in light purple clothes that reminded Gillian of very comfortable medical scrubs.

“They still have tea and coffee in the future!” she announced. She was practically buzzing in a combination of excitement, accomplishment, and trepidation (and a good jolt of caffeine) as she started to fully absorb her situation. “Drinks on the house!” She handed out hot drinks to her grateful companions, including the lost-looking Andorian.

“We have obtained patient sanitary dress.” Spock distributed the garments.

Gillian tried not to blush as she recalled Spock stripping out of his robe before she had a chance to turn away. She had worried briefly about how attitudes about modesty might have culturally changed in three hundred years, and she had been relieved to find the equivalent to a restroom with stalls to change into her own hospital outfit. 

Gillian approached the knot of three officers at the back of the shuttle. She sensed a tension there, but felt guilty enough to not ask questions. As Kirk came back to take a coffee from the tray, he turned a charming smile on the marine biologist. “To things unchanged,” he toasted. As he took the purple outfit from Spock, he added, “Including ugly hospital gowns.”

\-------

McCoy had pulled rank and used a dose of loud grouchiness to get his way. Once his core temperature approached normal, he was released to make rounds to monitor Kirk and his misfit team. Kirk, Uhura, Scott, and Sulu were all deemed fit for interrogation once they were warmed up as well, though they remained under security observation in an auxiliary medical bay.

Not long after, Spock and Chekov were ultimately judged to be at the bottom of the triage list for the Headquarter’s hospital staff, and they were relieved to turn over the relatively minor situation over to another set of hands. Doctor Taylor, however, had immediately been placed in quarantine once Kirk and McCoy vouched for her status as a traveler from the past.

It was late into the night when McCoy left Kirk and Spock in the Vulcan’s room. The trio had spent time philosophising and pontificating on time travel, the probe, the whales, and the crew’s ultimate fate, but McCoy said his quick farewells once Sarek arrived to visit.

He entered Chekov’s room, hoping that the patient was sleeping. He read over the medbed’s chart, then sat heavily in a padded chair next to his bed. He tried to remain silent, but the susurrus of another person moving about the room was enough to pull Chekov out of sleep.

“Doctor?” he yawned.

“Hey, it’s about midnight. Did you sleep at all?”

Chekov sat up, wincing. “I think so. Head hurts.”

“Yeah.” McCoy quickly reviewed the chart from the bed’s screens to determine if it was safe to administer a drug. He loaded a hypo and pressed it to Chekov’s neck. “Anti-inflammatory,” McCoy explained.

“What all happened…” Chekov waved his hand. “When… you know.”

The Doctor settled back in the chair, rubbing at his gritty eyes. He debated whether it was wise to give his patient all the details, but forged ahead. “We got to you as they were prepping you for surgery. Your prognosis wasn’t good, son. You had a tear in a cerebral artery.” He looked over at a medical tray nestled into a wall and pulled a silver hoop from the tray. “Easy enough to fix with a regenerator like this. Fortunately, I had a portable regen device. I loaded up on equipment before we left Vulcan.”

“Admiral Kirk called you paranoid,” Chekov recalled.

“Yeah, well, preparedness isn’t exactly his style, but I wasn’t going to fly around in that hunk of junk without every medical device they’d let me have.”

“Doctor Taylor said they wanted to drill a hole in my head. What did she mean?”

McCoy sighed. “Yeah, I was going to tell you the whole story once we were all through the shock and stress of time travel, whale hunting, and a water crash landing. The tear was an easy fix with the portable regen, and I guess that’s the best they could figure out. But even with the artery repaired, you still had a residual hematoma. More importantly, I had to try to reverse that chemical anesthesia they had you under. Ideally I’d’ve had you on bed rest for at least a few days.”

“Well, they were still using nuclear fission reactors, so a chemical coma probably seemed safe as kitten to them.” His tone was light, but his voice was rough and thick.

McCoy chuckled, swallowing down a lump of anxiety at the memory of Chekov’s blood composition on his med scanner screen in that primitive operating room. Even he would be haunted by that memory for a while, and he made a note to quietly ask around with his mental health contacts about someone who had an opening for a stubborn Russian post-trauma patient. To say the recent months had been rough would be an understatement considering Khan’s mind control worm, Genesis, and now this. If he hadn’t been dealing with his own thing, having Spock’s katra traipsing about in his head and his subsequent treatment on Vulcan, he would have already been on Chekov’s ass about seeing someone.

A quiet knock at the open door announced Sulu.

“Sulu,” McCoy greeted.

“He’s doing okay?”

_ "I’m _ doing much better,  _ da _ ,” Chekov grumbled.

“Yeah, but you two both should be resting. Don’t stay up.” McCoy stretched as he stood, popping his back. “I know you were in that conference room for a few hours, Sulu, and there’s no end in sight until they set a trial date.” The six accused officers were staying overnight in the medical bay until it was decided how securely they should be held in custody.

McCoy waved at the two younger officers, in search of a free bed to hunker down in.

Sulu rolled up the sleeve on his unremarkable gray shirt to reveal his wrist. “Get one of these yet, Pavel?” A thin band with a blinking light fit snugly behind Sulu’s wrist bone. “I guess we’re a flight risk.”

“We stole a Starship. We’re not just a flight risk, we’re a warp risk.”

Sulu burst out in laughter. “Damn straight.” He sat in McCoy’s vacated chair. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed Chekov’s hand. “Pavel--”

“I’m sorry,” Chekov blurted. Sulu blinked a few times, and Chekov took advantage of his rare speechlessness. “I was… stressed. I took it out on you.”

“Oh, it’s all fine. And you were right: I was hovering. I’ve been hovering since I got you back from the  _ Reliant _ .” Sulu absently rubbed his thumb over the back of Chekov’s hand, and Chekov couldn’t control the tremors running through him. After a moment, the older man said in almost a whisper, “We were all so worried. God, you could have…” They both let his sentence trail off, unable to put words to the traumatic memories. “I think you need to see someone for all this. You haven’t really told me anything about what happened on the space station. I worry about you. All the time.”

“I know.” Chekov was lulled almost into a trance by the minor contact of Sulu’s thumb. “I thought that Bird was going to break apart around the sun when we were coming back,” Chekov confessed in a sleepy rasp.

“Me, too,” Sulu whispered. His head was tipped back against the wall and eyes closed. “We’d just gotten you back from the brink of… And we’d come all that way and found the whales just to fail at the last minute. I didn’t believe it was going to end like that. I had to have faith we’d make it back.”

“I knew you’d get us through it, though. You’ve never failed me.”

“I never will, Pavel. I’ll fly into hell to get you back from the devil himself.”

Chekov’s heavy pattern of breathing was enough for Sulu. For the first time in months, Chekov fell into a deep dreamless slumber. 


End file.
